


Boredom

by lee_the_bee



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Abused John Watson, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Big Brother Mycroft, Boredom, Idiots in Love, John Watson is a Saint, M/M, Mind Games, Past Abuse, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock is Trying His Best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 22:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12662493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lee_the_bee/pseuds/lee_the_bee
Summary: Sherlock is bored. John has to find something to keep him occupied. What could be better than a little game?





	1. Bored and Hyper: The worst combination

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know where this will go but it should be fun. Don't expect updates too often.
> 
> How do you feel about quotes?
> 
> "Chaos is what killed the dinosaurs."

"Sherlock, what in the world are you doing?"

John Watson stared open-mouthed at his flatmate who was currently attempting to play the violin while standing on his head. It wasn't unlike Sherlock to do some weird things, but this seemed a bit stranger than usual. 

"I'm bored John," Sherlock replied in his usual, flippant tone. "I've never been so dreadfully bored in my entire life."

"Well, perhaps you should have thought of that before you landed us both under house arrest," John shot back.

Two days prior, Sherlock had thought up the brilliant idea of breaking into a museum and destroying a very expensive statue in order to find a hidden stash of stolen gems. While the plan itself wasn't awful, Sherlock hadn't been sure of which statue housed the gems. Instead of wasting time deducing the correct statue, he decided to destroy the statues one by one until the correct one was discovered. Naturally, the museum owners were not particularly pleased. All of this led to their current state: three weeks of house arrest.

"I still don't understand why those people were so upset over a few ugly statues. If anything, I did them a favor," Sherlock said while still playing his violin.

John sighed and went back to brewing himself some tea. It was going to be a _long_ three weeks.

 

Sherlock watched as John walked away. He felt a bit bad that he had gotten John stuck at home as well, but only a bit. He was still too overwhelmed with boredom to ponder over any one thing for an extended period of time. 

"Make me a cup as well, will you," he said in John's general direction.

Sherlock rolled onto his back and waited as the blood rushed back out of his head. That was the only type of rush he would be getting for three whole weeks. He rubbed his eyes, just now appreciating the severity of his punishment. 

He jumped up suddenly and began to pace. He needed to move, to think, to do something...anything at all. If he didn't do something right now he felt he would simply explode. Or go mad. He couldn't be left alone with his thoughts for three weeks. It would drive him crazy. What's the point of being able to think if you're not able to do? What would...

His thoughts screeched to a halt as he slammed into John, spilling scalding tea onto both of them.

"Jesus Christ, Sherlock," John yelped. "Go sit down before you get one of us killed!"

Sherlock stood for a second in shock and then rushed to take a seat. He heard John get paper towels and mop up the spilled tea while muttering obscenities under his breath. After John had finished, he walked over and sat down across from Sherlock.

"I'm sorry about the tea," Sherlock muttered. His ears had turned bright red and he wouldn't look John in the eye.

"It's fine mate. You need to calm down though. You're acting like a complete nutter," John replied.

Sherlock didn't reply. If anything, his ears got brighter.

"Look," John sighed. "We need to find something to occupy you. I don't think either of us will last through this house arrest otherwise."

"Like what?" asked Sherlock.

"I don't know! Read, play your violin, watch shitty reality tv shows, explode the kitchen, do _something_!"

"All boring. I need something to deduce, something...exciting."

"Fine. I challenge you to figure out all of my secrets. Deduce me."

"John, I know all of your secrets. I know everything about you already."

"What's my mother's maiden name?"

Sherlock sat in silence for a minute. He blinked several times before looking back up at John.

"You have no clue, do you?" John laughed.

"I...I guess not." Sherlock replied. He looked at John in awe and grinned. "I suppose this will be fun after all."

John smiled, but he couldn't help but be worried. What if Sherlock found out...no, that wasn't going to happen. Sherlock was good, but he wasn't _that_ good.


	2. The Secret is Revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Coming out is scary, but not being yourself is a lot scarier."

John's game worked well...at least for the first few days. Sherlock managed to keep himself out of trouble and John managed to write up a few cases for his blog. The flat was peaceful until the fourth day of their three-week imprisonment.

The day started out quite as normal as the last. John's alarm woke him up at 7 o'clock, he made a pot of coffee, got a shower, and went out to the living room to begin typing a rough draft of their latest adventure. That's when he noticed something out of the ordinary. Something he had managed to miss all morning. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

_Where's that git gotten to? He's followed me around like a lost puppy for the last few days and now he's nowhere to be seen. What the hell is he planning?_  

John figured he should probably find Sherlock before he got himself killed. 

 

It didn't take him long to find Sherlock. In fact, he was in the first placed John checked, his bedroom. John opened the door to find Sherlock sprawled on the floor surrounded by papers, books, and his computer. He couldn't help but chuckle as he thought about Sherlock being so caught up in his work that he couldn't even be bothered to climb into bed. 

_I should get him into his bed, it can't be comfortable lying on that floor. God does he look adorable though._

He smiled to himself and bent down to pick up the sleeping Sherlock. He lifted him with surprising ease and carried him over to the bed. Just as he set Sherlock down, the man's eyes flew open and he grabbed John's wrist. John stood, frozen in shock, as Sherlock stared deep into his eyes.

"I've got it!" announced Sherlock proudly.

"You what? Hold up a minute, we're you pretending to be asleep just now?" John was utterly confused and quickly becoming annoyed. Why had he chosen to live with the strangest man on earth?

"Of course I was. You're missing the point, John. I've figured out you're secret!" Sherlock said, sitting up and beaming at John

"How long were you in here waiting for me to come find you? Have you honestly just spent the entire morning lying on your floor pretending to be asleep?"

"John that's not important!"

"How did you even know I would come looking for you?"

Sherlock got off of the bed and began pacing around the room. He had obviously stopped listening to John's questions.

"Why didn't you just tell me, John? That's the real question. Why keep it a secret? I've never understood why people kept such odd pieces of information away from other people."

"Sherlock, what are you talking about?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were attracted to me?"

John's heart froze. When he had challenged Sherlock, he hadn't thought that...he didn't think Sherlock would be able to find out. He had only known himself for a few weeks. It had taken him a long time, his whole life really, to come to terms with the fact that he was gay. For Sherlock to figure it all out in a matter of minutes...

"P...pardon?" he managed to stutter.

"You are attracted to me. Your heart rate and the dilation of your pupils gave it away. To be honest, I knew you were gay since I first met you, but you were so adamant about being straight that I didn't want to push the issue. I didn't know if you were attracted to me so I never brought it up. I didn't want to lose you if I was wrong."

 

Ten minutes later, they found themselves sipping tea in awkward silence back in the living room. Neither was sure of what to say. Finally, Sherlock broke the quiet.

"So, are you going to argue that you're straight?"

John had considered it at first, but what was the point? Sherlock would see right through his lies.

"No, I think I've come to terms with it."

"As you wish John. I'll...leave you to think. If you need me, I'll be in my room." 

What was he going to do? Sherlock knew his biggest secret.

_At least he's not being a prat about it._

 

John was worried about what Sherlock was thinking. Knowing Sherlock, he probably couldn't care less about John's feelings for him. He didn't seem like he understood relationships of any sort. But...for a moment he thought he had seen Sherlock's ears turn beet red. As he sat and pondered his predicament, one thought kept returning to him. One sentence that changed everything.

_"I didn't want to lose you."_


	3. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light."

"NO SON OF MINE IS GOING TO BE A FUCKING FAIRY!" John looked up into his father's angry, red face. He had never been so scared in his life. He could feel the tears coming but couldn't cry now; that would just make his father angrier. He tried to stop, tried to keep it in, all as a single tear rolled down his cheek. He braced himself for the impact before he even knew it was coming.

His father had always had a short temper. You never knew what would set him off. One minute has was smiling and laughing, the next you had a bruise forming and were knocked on your ass. Harry had gotten the worst of their father's anger. She was the troublemaker...but also the protector. Whenever their father went off on John, she was always there to pick him back up, to hug him, to tell him things would be okay.

Then, she got herself kicked out. John watched in horror as she waltzed up to her father that day and spit in his face. She ducked under the arm he swung at her but wasn't agile enough to escape the second one that grabbed her. Their father dragged her to the door and tossed her out. And Harry...Harry laughed like hell. John looked into those gray-brown-blue eyes that so closely resembled his own as the door slammed shut.

From that day, John Watson was utterly alone in the world. His sister's ungraceful departure had taken away the one person he could trust, the one person who cared about him. And all because she refused to pretend she was straight. She had practically been yelling her gayness from the rooftops for quite a while; she had to have known it was only a matter of time before their father heard. She had abandoned him.

His father's temper had hastily declined after the incident with Harry. At least once a day, he would go off on John for some reason or another. It was hard to continue going to school when every day you had to explain another bruise or cut to teachers who were becoming increasingly worried. He had lost all hope of ever being rescued, ever being saved from the hell that was his life.

Then, there was the worst day yet. The day he graduated high school. He had been so excited to finally be leaving home. His bags were packed and ready to go. Everything was going well until his father came home early from work. John was in his room when he heard the front door slam. He felt his heart already speeding up and the adrenaline rushing through his body.

"JOHN, GET DOWN HERE!"

He grabbed his bag off of his bed and quietly left his room, mentally saying goodbye to the only home he had ever known. At the bottom of the stairs was his father who was obviously drunk. He was holding something in his hand, a piece of paper, possibly...a note. John froze on the stairs. He knew what was coming.

"What the hell is this?" his father's voice was dangerous and low.

"I...I'm n..not sure dad."

"I think you know exactly what this is. I think you know where I found this little note."

"Dad really I don't know what you're t..t..talking about."

His father grabbed the front of his shirt before he knew what was happening. He was dragged into the kitchen and thrown onto the floor.

"IS THERE SOMETHING YOU WANT TO TELL ME JOHN? AM I MISSING SOMETHING THAT WOULD MAKE THIS NOT BE WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE."

John just stared at his father in horror. He backed himself up against the cabinets, trying to distance himself as much as possible.

"IT LOOKS TO ME LIKE YOU HID AWAY THIS LITTLE LOVE LETTER FROM YOUR BOYFRIEND! TAKE A LOOK JOHN!" he threw the letter onto the floor.

John picked up the note and frantically read it. The words were blurred and unintelligible; in fact, they were complete jibberish. On the whole page, there were only a few words that made any sense. _John_ , _lose you_ , _care about you_ , and the signature  ** _Love, Sherlock_**. 

He didn't even try to hold back his tears anymore. Hit after hit he cried out, but nobody was there to hear or care. No sister left to comfort him, no mother to stop this from happening, just him and his father and the whap of the impact. 

 

John woke up at the lamp next to his bed was flipped on. He could feel the hot tears rolling down his face, but there was nothing he could do to stop them. 

"John, what's the matter? Are you injured? Is everything okay?" Sherlock asked in a panic-stricken voice.

"I'm f...fine Sherlock. B...bad dream is all. Don't worry." John managed to sputter.

Sherlock stared at him for a moment before carefully sitting down next to John. 

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

Instead of answering, Sherlock simply placed his arm around John's back and squeezed. John broke into tears once again but this time he wasn't alone. This time, he had Sherlock. They stayed like that for the rest of the night. Sherlock with his arm wrapped tightly around John and John pressed into Sherlock's side. 

John Watson woke up feeling more well-rested than he had in years.

Sherlock Holmes woke up with the strangest feeling that took him a moment to place. Complete and utter love for another person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a rough outline of this story. So far, we're looking at around 12 total chapters but I could add some filler fluff if you guys want it. Let me know...


	4. The First Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Anybody can look at you. It’s quite rare to find someone who sees the same world as you."

Sherlock looked down into John's bright eyes, still slightly red from crying. He smiled nervously as his heart fluttered about his chest. Something had changed drastically between him and John last night, that much he could tell, but he wasn't sure precisely what. His worries were swept away the moment John smiled back at him. He had plenty of time to figure it out later. Right now, his attention was all on John.

"Thank you for last night, Sherlock. Thanks for not leaving me."

"You looked liked you needed me. There was no way I was going to leave you in that state. You were a complete mess."

At this, John chuckled and Sherlock's heart beat even faster. The feeling of John in his arms, his laugh, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled up, everything felt so utterly right.

"Reckon we should get up?" John asked.

"I suppose so," replied Sherlock "Mrs. Hudson would be quite worried if she came up and we were nowhere to be found."

They laughed and clambered out of bed, neither really wanting to ever leave.

"I'll get the coffee then?"

"I'll get it. You go ahead and read the newspaper."

John was surprised. Sherlock  _never_ offered to do anything around the house, especially not in the morning. Nonetheless, he sat in his chair and opened up the morning newspaper.

"Here you are, John." Sherlock handed him the cup of black coffee before taking a seat in his chair to sip on the sugary cocktail he called coffee.

As John drank he looked up, surprised.

"You remembered." 

"Remembered what?" Sherlocked asked.

"You remembered I don't take sugar. You always forget. That's why I make coffee in the morning." Once again John laughed and stared at Sherlock who blushed the smallest bit.

"Oh, shut up," Sherlock said but the corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile.

 

They went about the rest of their day as normal. John worked on his blog, Sherlock played his violin, and Mrs. Hudson visited at lunchtime. 

"Can I clean out the room upstairs now that you won't be needing it," she asked.

John choked on his tea and Sherlock looked rather amused.

"Sherlock, did you tell her?!"

"He didn't need to. I'm not blind yet John, I can see the way you two look at each other." She giggled. "So...the room?"

"Yeah, of course." It was John who blushed this time. He glared at Sherlock who was trying, and failing, to hide his smile.

 

They spent their evening next to the fireplace. Sherlock was splayed across the couch, reading when John pushed his book down against his chest.

"Sit up, will you?"

Sherlock obliged, allowing John to sit, only to place his head in John's lap and continue reading his book. He saw John's smile in his peripheral vision and the next thing he knew, he was being petted like a cat. It was hard to focus on his book with John playing with his hair. The constant movement was soothing in the most peculiar way. It reminded him of a piece of his childhood that was so filled with holes. His mother playing with his hair and reading him a story as he sat on her lap. The book fell from his hands and he felt his eyes fill with tears. He didn't know why he was crying and yet there it was, a single tear rolling down his face. John noticed and stopped momentarily to wipe away the tear. His other hand placed on Sherlock's chest, the two boys stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. No, not an eternity. What they were experiencing existed somewhere outside the domain of time. They were together in the crushing vastness of an empty world, an empty universe, simply existing together. Sherlock slowly reached up to place his hand on top of John's. He needed to feel the skin beneath his own and assure himself that this was real. They sat on the ugly, old couch until the sky was black and the fire had long since burned out. Unable to stay awake any longer, Sherlock slowly drifted off. John watched him sleep for a while, admiring the peaceful look that was rare to see on Sherlock. Then, for the second time, carried Sherlock to bed and climbed in next to him.

"Goodnight, Sherlock," John whispered.

He placed a light kiss on Sherlock's temple before turning to shut off the bedside lamp. Out of the darkness from the other side of the bed, he heard a faint whisper.

"Goodnight, John."

"You're such a prat," John mumbled sleepily as he snuggled up to Sherlock's side.


	5. The Game is On Once Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Things couldn’t be righter. They could be less caffeinated, but they couldn’t be righter. " 
> 
>  
> 
> The POV jumps around a bit in this chapter (as indicated by the lines).

John was startled awake as Sherlock kissed him. It took him a few seconds to comprehend what was happening. Sherlock was on top of John and passionately, borderline violently, kissing him. In the interest of prolonging this rare experience, John chose to ask questions later and just go with it in the meantime. As they broke apart, gasping for air, John managed a hurried "Morning!" before proceeding to flip over and pin Sherlock under him.

* * *

 

Sherlock had woken up crying from a terrible nightmare. He dreamt that John left him, running away with some pompous blonde girl name Mary. What kind of name was Mary anyway? In his dream, Sherlock had tried to warn John that Mary wasn't who she said she was; she was a liar and a criminal. John, however, hadn't listened and ran off with this woman anyway. Sherlock had broken down in tears at not being able to save John. The tears were what finally released him from this frightening fantasy. He knew he had woken up, but being Sherlock he needed to make sure, needed to be positive that this was reality. And thus, he found himself on top of John. Well, he was on top of John for quite a while when out of nowhere he was flipped onto his back.

Sherlock stared up at John, shock and...aroused? He felt oddly hot almost like there were tiny needles prickling all over his body. Even he, as socially dysfunctional as he was, could feel the tension between him and John. It was then that a realization hit Sherlock Holmes like a ton of bricks; he wanted John Watson more than he had ever wanted anything in his whole life. Laughing, he stretched up and began kissing John once more. 

One thing led to another until the two men found themselves lying side by side, undressed, and out of breath. Both were quite content to like there for the rest of the day until a knock at the door had them both jumping up and throwing on the nearest clothes. Sherlock was almost at the door when it swung open and in walked Mycroft. He was holding what looked like a gift basket and...smiling. Sherlock watched cautiously as Mycroft set the basket down on the table and turned to look at the two of them. 

"Congratulations brother mine. I'm so happy you finally found someone. I really was worried that you would spend your days alone forever." Mycroft was practially beaming. "And thank you, John Watson. I'm confident in your abilities to take care of Sherlock and wish you the best of luck. You'll need it."

Sherlock glanced at John, hoping to communicate a course of action, only to see that his lovely doctor was woefully confused. 

"John, he knows. I'm not quite sure how, but I have a few ideas." He glared at Mycroft as he settled on the most likely explanation. It was just like Mycroft to do something like this. He should have thought about it before now. Mycroft's smile confirmed his suspicions. 

"There's no way he could know anything. It's just not possible. He's not a bloody psychic!" John was frustrated and obvious to the nonverbal conversation occurring between Sherlock and Mycroft.

"Oh come on, John. Think! There's always a way of finding something out." Sherlock encouraged. However, John was too frustrated to indulge in his game. The icy look he gave Sherlock stopped him dead. 

"Cameras. He has cameras hidden around the flat. Probably has it bugged too." Sherlock looked back at Mycroft to confirm. John spoke up when Mycroft smiled more instead of answering.

"I can't believe you. You have done a lot of things to push me and Sherlock in the past but this...this takes the cake! You'd better have a good explanation for why you BUGGED YOUR BROTHER"S FLAT MYCROFT!" John's face was turning bright red at this point. Sherlock felt inclined to step a bit farther away.

"Are you really surprised? Of course I had this flat monitored. How else am I supposed to keep an eye on you two?" Despite Sherlock taking a great deal of pleasure from the fear present in Mycroft's voice, he felt it was time for him to step in.

"It's okay John. I suppose he would have found out eventually." 

"It's absolutely not okay! He invaded your, our, privacy for who knows how long. This isn't something a normal concerned family member does!"

"Well, we aren't exactly normal are we?" Sherlock chuckled and looked at Mycroft. He felt like he should be cross with him, but just...wasn't.

* * *

 

John stared incredulously at Sherlock and Mycroft. It wasn't like Sherlock to stand up for anything his brother did in general, least of all when it concerned him. Feeling like he had gone mad, he fell back into his chair. 

"What's in the basket?" Sherlock wandered over and began unwrapping Mycroft's gift.

"Just some essentials for any new couple." 

"Tea, chocolates, wine, a gift card for the movie theater, and two knives...how thoughtful of you."

"Yes well, there is one more gift for you brother." He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and offered it to Sherlock who looked like he had just witnessed the second coming of Christ. 

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. You deserve it."

Sherlock plopped down into his chair as he took the first drag. He exhaled as if had been holding his breath for months and grinned at Mycroft.

"Is that all? Don't tell me you came all the way here just to deliver a gift basket." 

Mycroft's smile dropped a bit before he replied. "Right again. I have a case for you."

"Well, as much as we would like to take it, we're currently under house arrest." John chimed in.

"Actually, I had that lifted a few days ago. I didn't want to ruin your fun so I 'forgot' to mention it." This brought a smile back to Mycroft's face as he explained it.

Although John had a few choice words to say, he thought better of it and sat back to hear about the case Mycroft had brought them. Sherlock was balanced on the edge of his seat much like an oversized bird, still puffing away on his quickly disappearing cigarette.

"There's been quite an unusual string of murders in the past three days. From the crime scenes, we were not able to gather any evidence to identify a killer or even the victims. The police are at a loss as usual so I need you two to go out and see what you can find."

"If there have been multiple murders, why hasn't there been anything in the newspaper?" John asked.

"There's not much to say about the murders yet, so there's no reason to get the public worried yet. So, will you take it?" He aimed this last question at Sherlock who stared thoughtfully for a moment before jumping up.

"I'll need everything you've gotten from the crime scenes, files on any possible suspects, and a computer. This is going to be fun!" He ran to get John's computer and start working. 

"Terrific. I'd best be off. Congratulations again John!" And with that, Mycroft was gone and John was left wondering, as he did quite often, how he had gotten himself mixed up with these nutters.


End file.
